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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748633">hold me tight and i’ll sink in</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/longituddeonda/pseuds/longituddeonda'>longituddeonda</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Prospect (2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Amputation, F/M, First Aid, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Tattoos, but more artist/muse to lovers?, but not the scene, but they talk about it, just after he loses the arm, tattoo artist reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:00:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,151</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24748633</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/longituddeonda/pseuds/longituddeonda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>ezra has come to know you, your relationship ever-shifting from server and client, to artist and their muse, to friends who are so much more. and while no words have been spoken on the matter, it is just a question of hands on skin and the casual intimacy of tattoos that pulls things apart and stitches them together...</p><p>
  <i>“My deepest thank you, again, for finding the time for me,” Ezra said.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Hey, no worries,” you said, pausing to look up at him and grin. “I’m just glad every time you call to say you’re stopping by. Means my favorite customer didn’t die since I last saw them.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’m your favorite?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>You rolled your eyes. “Ezra. I wouldn’t be tattooing you in my house on my days off if you weren’t my favorite.”</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ezra (Prospect 2018)/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>33</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was raining outside. Rain brought good things. The city was a green one and your windows were open to the sights of towering apartment buildings, balconies adorned with plants from all across the galaxy and the soft engines of ships flying through the sky sounded as the black and bronze vessels crisscrossed the sky. The world was bright as light reflected on white clouds. How any of the pilots up there managed to stay in the air, you had no idea. You hated flying when it was raining, and when the sky was a blinding white blanket, it was even worse. </p><p>You preferred taking the tram anyway. </p><p>The garden above you was covered in trees with wide leaves, and the sound of the rain pattering on them, soft and pleasant, was one of your favorite things to hear. Sometimes you wished you could move to a ground-level place, one where you could smell the rain as it hit the ground, where there were more trees to hear the rain on, where there was more life. </p><p>But being up here was fairly quiet. And that was nice. You aren’t too fond of the sound of the bustling city streets. </p><p>The toilet flushed in the bathroom next door and the faucet turned on. </p><p>It was a small apartment. Just a bathroom, a kitchenette, a small living space, and the bed, lofted above the entryway. Could you have afforded more? Yes. But you worked down in the shops in the center of town, and what you really wanted in a home was a little getaway. And this little space, with its white walls, bamboo surfaces, and dark iron fixtures was perfect. A sanctuary.</p><p>Ezra walked out of the bathroom and back to where you sat on the couch and resumed flipping through your binder of flashes. He had already decided on what he wanted and you were hunched over the coffee table, working on finishing up the drawing. </p><p>“My deepest thank you, again, for finding the time for me,” Ezra said.</p><p>“Hey, no worries,” you said, pausing to look up at him and grin. “I’m just glad every time you call to say you’re stopping by. Means my favorite customer didn’t die since I last saw them.”</p><p>“I’m your favorite?”</p><p>You rolled your eyes. “Ezra. I wouldn’t be tattooing you in my house on my days off if you weren’t my favorite.”</p><p>You turned back to the drawing.</p><p>The first time you met Ezra, he had walked through the doors of your shop, dripping from the torrential downpour, and looked at all the flash sheets covering the walls. The receptionist, Kisa, had asked if he had an appointment and he didn’t. Said he saw the walk-ins welcome sign and liked the designs on the window. Kisa told him both Silas and Owen could do something if it was a small enough design he wanted. They didn’t have any appointments for an hour or two. </p><p>She pointed him to their work, and he said no. He pointed at one of the sheets on the wall, and said: <em>“I would like to get that one.”</em></p><p>It was one of your designs. A favorite of yours, actually. One that no one really looked at and it was okay with you. You wanted to keep it for the right person. And Ezra, with his blond streak, wily grin, and obviously deep lack of understanding of how the tattoo shop worked, seemed to be interesting enough for you.</p><p>Unfortunately, you had just started a piece that would take at least two hours and had only paused to see the new customer pointing at your work. </p><p>Kisa told him he’d have to make an appointment since you were booked up for the week. </p><p>“Kisa, I don’t have anyone after this, if he wants to wait a couple hours,” you said. It was an unusual change in the rules for you, but you were intrigued. </p><p>“But,” she sputtered. “Your schedule—you leave after 1500 on Wednesdays—”</p><p>“I can stay today, you know? At least do a consultation,” you said. Kisa had a deep look of confusion, rippling across her face, but she turned to Ezra and told him if he wanted to come back in a couple hours he could. </p><p>That first tattoo, done after your standard hours over the most invigorating conversation you’d ever had with a client, or possibly with anyone, was the beginning of your relationship with Ezra, a drifter, you learned. He would call, usually a cycle before he arrived on the planet, and you’d let him know if there was a spot open. You usually stuck to your hours, but sometimes bent the rules for him. </p><p>One day he had called just as you started your three-day-weekend, and he wasn’t going to be in town for long enough to catch you when you started working again. You told him to come up to your apartment and you’d do something there if he wanted. </p><p>It was an offering of trust, one he wholly deserved.</p><p>He had sat on your tattoo chair, time after time, and poured out secrets of his life to you. When he was gone you would sometimes stay up late turning his stories into art. Only some of which you shared with him. A couple of those had made it onto his body. </p><p>It only made sense to let him into your home. No one before had shared so much with you without you reciprocating in some way. </p><p>The worst day was when he called ahead and showed up to your apartment, one arm missing and the wound stitched up so poorly you were surprised it wasn’t infected. </p><p>He had shuffled in and apologized over and over for all your art he had lost and then broken down. That was the first time you hugged him. You held him there in your arms until he had calmed down and the tears had subsided, and instead of giving him a tattoo, you got out a medkit, took out the stitches, and used some butterfly bandages to pull the edges of the wound together and put an integumentary patch over the whole thing, just like what had been done to you when you tripped ten stands ago down in the park and cut open your leg on a rock off to the side of the path. </p><p>Ezra had protested. The patch was too expensive, he said, too much for him. The reality was that for a drifter and out in open space, they were a pricey investment. But here they were cheap. Sometimes you saw this side of Ezra, the one hyperconscious about everything, eyeing even the smallest items with hesitance, the way one does when their budget is constantly running through their head. </p><p>It was why you always gave him a discount on the tattoos. You didn’t want him to worry. No matter how much you explained your planet had a good system of wealth distribution and he didn’t need to worry about what you gave to him, he still viewed you with suspicion. </p><p>After that day you stopped charging him. He was your canvas and you were his confidant, his enabler, his source of conversation and socialization and stability. You were friends. </p><p>You had to reassure him again and again he didn’t have to apologize for losing the tattoos. Losing an arm was enough of a burden. </p><p>The next time he visited he asked if you could tattoo some of the lost designs on his chest. You agreed to that. It was the first time you had seen him without his shirt. You had always done things across his arms and little pieces dotted across his legs while he wore shorts. </p><p>Those visits where he lay shirtless on your couch, either during your weekends or after the shop hours, were when you think you fell a little bit in love. Your hand flush against his skin, the only barrier between the two your glove as you poked the designs into his skin, listening to the sound of his panting and grunts. Those were the only times your work was done in silence with Ezra.</p><p>You’re pretty sure he spent that time thinking about how much he missed his arm. </p><p>That was almost a year ago now. And every time he came by, usually once or twice every stand, he would stay at some hostel for a cycle or two, and you would always make time for him. </p><p>Today, he wanted a little plant he had found during his most recent mining gig. He had discovered it amongst the quarry, and his rudimentary searches led him to discover it was thought to be extinct, and only grew on the planet he was on. He took a few photos of it and the next cycle he found it, torn up from its roots in a pile of excavated ground, and the land it had grown on was blown up hours before. </p><p>He walked into your apartment an hour ago, asking if he could get it tattooed on his hip so it could live on somewhere. It wasn’t the most beautiful plant, but the sentiment behind it made it gorgeous. </p><p>Ezra leaned over on the couch to see your drawing as you penned the last stroke onto the stencil.</p><p>“It’s perfect,” he said.</p><p>You looked up to him, “Yeah? Thanks. Um, are you ready? I just have to set up the tools and we can get started.”</p><p>“Of course.” </p><p>You opened up the box where you kept all your supplies and began setting them out on the table. </p><p>“My apologies if this is a foolish inquiry,” Ezra asked, standing up from the couch. “But how much of my clothing is required to be removed? I do not know if sliding down my pants is enough.”</p><p>You look up to see what he’s wearing. A stiff pair of pants. Not supple enough to push down, they would have to go.</p><p>“Are you wearing any underwear?” you asked. It was a question you had learned was an important one to ask. While many could come in with underclothes that hugged the waist rather than the hips, you didn’t think Ezra was the type. But he could be the type of client who didn’t wear anything underneath. </p><p>“I am,” he said. “But I do not think it will be much more forgiving than my pants.”</p><p>You took a deep breath. Your policy had always been that you would tattoo just about anywhere if you had developed enough of a relationship with a customer. It should have been easy to tell him to take everything off and give him a cloth to cover up what he needed to. But you were almost <em>too</em> close to Ezra. There was no confusion in your mind, this would be more intimate than any experience you had ever had. And it was augmented by the memories of the almost-kissed you had shared. All the moments where you had almost made the final step to make your relationship more. </p><p>There had always been something between the two of you. Something special and if you were being honest, you’re pretty sure you weren’t just friends. Your relationship was one of tender and unwavering love. The powerful kind. </p><p>“I’m going to need to take off everything, right?” Ezra asked, still standing there, waiting. </p><p>“Um…” You weren’t sure what to say. You weren’t sure if you were ready for this. It would be too hard to keep this <em>thing</em> unspoken.</p><p>The sky had darkened considerably in the last minutes, and now the rain came down much faster. It was almost deafening, but you didn’t want to close the window. It was still too warm. It would become stuffy if you closed it. </p><p>“You are not prepared—or, I suppose, our relationship is not ready for that yet, right? You do not have to do this, it can go somewhere else. I am aware of your policy. If us is not there yet, I will wait—”</p><p>“Ezra, we’re there,” you blurted. “We’re more than there.” You stood up in front of him and continued with a slow whisper. “That’s why it’s so hard. I think we’re too close. I don’t know how to do this when it feels like we’re—I don’t know. I don’t know what we are, and we’re close but it’s not—”</p><p>“What do you want this to be, my dear artist?”</p><p>“I think I love you, Ezra,” you whispered. He was so close. His lips right there. His eyes, sparkling, stared right back at you. </p><p>“You think?” he asked. “Because I <em>know</em> I am deeply in love with you. And I trust you. And I would like for you to trust me.”</p><p>“I do,” you said. “I do trust you. And I love you. I don’t know when, or how, but ever since you walked into my life things have been good and I’m thankful for that moment. You don’t know the joy it brings me when you call to announce your arrival. I love every second you’re here. And I miss you so much when you’re gone. I go walk the rooftop gardens around the city, staring up at the sky, hoping you’re okay.” You were growing frantic, and Ezra placed his hand on your shoulder, squeezing gently.</p><p>“Breathe,” Ezra said. </p><p>He moved his hand up to your chin and pulled you in for a soft, chaste kiss. You wrapped your arms around him as you melted into his lips. It lasted mere seconds, but they felt like forever, and it was perfect. The rain was letting up outside, and it was the only thing you could hear beyond Ezra’s breathing. </p><p>He pulled away. “Now can I take off my pants?”</p><p>You stepped back and looked him up and down with awe. You smiled and shook your head. “Yeah, you can take off your damn pants.”</p><p>“Do you envision the possibility that they will remain removed after the tattoo is completed?” Ezra had his signature grin across his face. </p><p>“If you’re suggesting we have sex while you have a fresh tattoo? Then absolutely not,” you laugh. “But you are keeping those pants off because I don’t trust that fabric on my art and you’re also staying the night. If you want to.”</p><p>“Of course I want to,” Ezra’s grin broke out into a full smile, something rare and more beautiful than you remembered. </p><p>“Good,” you said. “Because now I’m looking forward to every single second up until you leave, and I’m probably going to do everything in my power to keep you here for another night.”</p><p>“I would encourage you to try, I just might stay.” Ezra reached down to the waistband of his trousers and unbuttoned them, sliding them down his legs, and stepped out. His fingers reached up to the elastic of his underwear, and you glanced away, not wanting to look too creepy. You stared out the window and watched the rain come down. It was your favorite weather. Good things happened when it rained.  </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. sleeplessly embracing</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>oops i guess i wrote a second part to this ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You rolled over to flick off the light on your bedside table and then back onto the soft mattress, pulling the cover a little further around you. Your shuffling caused the cat to let out a little indignant </span>
  <em>
    <span>meow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and you felt her stand up from where she was curled up near your feet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of her claws ripping a bit into the worn-down quilt sounded one by one, and despite the dark, you could picture the stretch she was getting into, both front paws reached out in front of her, her head and torso lowering down to the bed as her spine elongated. She yawned. You could hear that too. And then, when you expected her to do nothing more than jump down off the bed and pad down the steps to the living room, she walked closer to your head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused next to your chest, her paws rising and falling, back and forth, creating a soft rocking motion on the mattress alongside you. She seemed content with the location and stopped her kneading to walk in a circle. Once. Twice. And she lowered herself, twisted into a perfect round, pressed against your body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You reached one of your arms over to run your fingers along her fur, carding them through the long, dark hair she had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She started to vibrate before you could hear the purring, but it came along soon enough. Slowly, your soft petting stopped as you grew too tired to keep it up. Your eyes were already closed and your mind drifting away but her presence next to you was somehow keeping you from disappearing into the realm of sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was best that way. You were so tired but the thought of returning to your dreams was even more unappealing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You had been plagued by nightmares every night for the past few cycles. It had been nearly six stands since you had heard from Ezra. He never went more than four stands without sending back word of where he was and when he was planning to return. And usually, he wasn’t ever gone for more than a single stand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You couldn’t file a report, he left neither a paper nor digital trail, and besides, if the wrong people found him, he’d probably end up in prison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dreams usually consisted of you making an ill-fated attempt to search for him and getting lost amongst the systems or worse, finding him, mangled amongst the wreckage of a ship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes they were just you answering the door to a strange man announcing Ezra’s death. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Those, somehow, were the worst. They were cold and empty and morphed into something hostile and unrecognizable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cat raised her head, the motion jerky and unusual, and you whispered into the darkness, “What’s wrong, Pri?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Ezra who insisted the two of you get a cat. And it was him who named her Apricot. All because he had just discovered what an apricot tasted like the day before. She wasn’t even orange. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She meowed as you heard a rattling you knew to be the sound of the door unlocking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there was one other person who had access to the bioscanner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezra.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Light flooding the small apartment was the only indicator the door had been opened. It darkened again, slowly, as Ezra seemed to try to close the door with a certain grace and silence. Presumably to not wake you up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t matter. You pushed the blankets down, and Apricot jumped up and lept down to the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ezra?” you whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s me.” He sounded drained. His words voiced and low, too tired to whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You stood up and walked down the stairs, flicking on the desk lamp at the bottom. The warm light flooded the space, hitting the flat white of the curtains covering the windows, reflecting off the metal of the microwave and stove, and absorbing into Ezra’s face, illuminated and smiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wore a tattered grey shirt and black cargo pants, and the scar across his cheek seemed a little more prominent. There were a few new cuts across his face, but he looked more or less unscathed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You flung yourself into his chest, hooking your chin over his shoulder as he did the same. You wrapped your arms around his torso, and he wrapped his one around you. You breathed in deeply, absorbing how he smelled and how he felt, like gunpowder and whiskey, warm drifter meals and the sterile air of a ship. He was warm and comfortable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am sorry I was gone for so long,” he whispered. “I missed you very much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I missed you too, Ezra,” you said. You pulled away from him, your smile of excitement fading into a frown as the small dose of drowsy anger reared its head. “I was so worried. Six stands, Ezra. Six. And not even a single message to say you were alright. I thought… I thought something had happened to you. Something bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m right here, my artist. I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But next time you might not be,” you blurted out. That was it, wasn’t it? That was what you were always afraid of. What had made this so much worse. You had been scared that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this</span>
  </em>
  <span> time was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>next</span>
  </em>
  <span> time you always spoke of. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezra broke his eye contact from you to look down at the floor. “I know,” he said. “You’re not the only one who’s afraid of that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You took a deep breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezra reached out, placing his hand firm on your forearm. “I had a run-in with Karoclan, they somehow managed to locate me. Despite how many cycles had passed since I last encountered them, they still seem to have a less than favorable opinion of myself. I had to run. Fast. I ended up far away when my ship lost power. It took too long for me to be found.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were staring at the spot between his eyebrows where two deep lines etched themselves into his skin. The point where his nose curved up into his browline, rippled and worried. He always did that when he was thinking too hard. You learned that before you started dating him. Before he moved in (at least part-time) with you. You learned it when he sat in the chair at the shop, his fifth or sixth tattoo from you, as he tried to explain where he had been, what he did, who he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezra looked back up at you, and as a pair, you stared into one another's eyes for a brief moment, long enough to dive into his and feel a little part of his soul. He released your arm so you could raise his hand, place his thumb on your cheek, brushing the rest of his fingers down and across your jaw towards under your chin. Delicate. So much more delicate than outsiders ever expected of him. It was a side of him just for you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every day I sat there thinking about you. About your eyes lighting up when you wake up to a bright rainy day or Apricot brushing up against your face. About the way you bite your lip when you focus so hard while tattooing. About your smile cascading across your features while we eat dinner together. I only wanted to be back here. Wanted to tell you I love you. To tell you that again and again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you too, Ezra,” you said. You weren’t sure what else to say. You were too tired. Anything else would have led to tears and words you didn’t mean. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You leaned forward, closing the gap between your bodies, letting your lips collide into something passionate and drowsy and full of all the words you didn’t want to say. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please stay. Don’t go next time. Don’t let there be a next time.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His arm on the small of your back was steady, the way nothing else seemed to be at times. Your whole life swaying, a fluctuating artist’s income, a boyfriend who went missing on occasion, an inconsistent plan to open up your own shop. All stacked on top of this high-rise apartment where you lived, sometimes shifting in the wind, the way it was built to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the time between you, Ezra still tasted the same. But his lips were softer than you remembered, and the little sounds he made a little louder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your fingers traced the spot on the base of his neck where you knew a set of dark lines lay. It was one of the few tattoos he had that you didn’t do. One from before you even met him. You had asked him what it was once and he didn’t want to answer. You hadn’t pushed him on it since. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apricot brushed up against your bare legs, winding between you and Ezra. You pulled away, softly laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knelt down, letting the cat sniff his fingers and take a lap around him. She always was hesitant around Ezra when he returned from his trips, regardless of how long he was gone. Sometimes you thought she forgot who he was, but she always seemed to remember within a half-hour after his arrival. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached a little paw up onto his thigh, and he winced as her claws dug through his pants and into his leg. The next paw went up and then she jumped onto his lap, reaching her head up towards his face, bumping her cheek into Ezra’s chin. He laughed and gave her a few scratches on her neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have got to go take a shower, Pri, and you are not going to enjoy joining me,” he said to the cat in the voice he reserved for Apricot alone. He looked back up to you, and in his regular voice said, “And I want to join you in bed, it is far too late for you to be awake, and I imagine you will have a full day of work tomorrow, but I need to take a shower. It has been too long since I got to clean myself with the thoroughness necessary and to receive the rejuvenation that only your shower here seems to provide. You should go back up. I will join you as soon as I can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stood up, letting the cat slide off his lap, and leaned in to give you a short kiss. You smiled into it and nodded. “I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezra’s lips twisted upward and you thought you could see a new scar in between the hairs of his mustache. He didn’t appear to have shaved the whole time he was gone. And you hoped he might leave it that way for another few days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned away, leaving his bag on the floor where you knew he wouldn’t touch it until tomorrow morning, but not before holding your hand for a second and squeezing. You closed your eyes as he let go and walked to the bathroom, not opening them until you heard the door open and shut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, it felt like any other night. Not like a long-awaited reunion. Not like the first time you had seen him in ages. Not like you were still a little angry. Not like your whole body had been flooded with worry. It felt normal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apricot brushed up against your leg again, her fur soft and warm against your skin. She looked up at you and meowed. Her yellow eyes shone bright against her black fur, the rest of her features less visible in the muted light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to go back up? Ezra will join us soon,” you told her. She meowed again, as if to express her approval. You nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As you walked over to the stairs, Apricot got excited and bounded up ahead of you, her footfalls loud on the small steps. You paused a moment to look back. A sliver of light shone through from underneath the bathroom door, illuminating the hardwood floors and the legs of the coffee table in the living room. It was right there that you first kissed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You turned off the desk light and followed Apricot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was curled up in her spot at the foot of the bed, already half asleep, a fluffy dark spot on the light quilt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If you were to list what you loved most of all in the universe, it would be easy.</span>
</p>
<ol>
<li><span>Ezra</span></li>
<li><span>Apricot</span></li>
<li><span>Tattoos</span></li>
</ol><p>
  <span>And you were pretty sure you knew Ezra’s list too:</span>
</p>
<ol>
<li><span>You</span></li>
<li><span>Apricot</span></li>
<li><span>Travelling amongst the stars</span></li>
</ol><p>
  <span>And to be honest, it was perfect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You slid underneath the covers, taking more care to not disturb Apricot than earlier that night. As soon as your head hit the pillow, you drifted into a half-asleep state, clinging on to that last sliver of awareness, just to make sure Ezra would join you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time passed differently like that, and you didn’t know how long it took because it felt like only a second, but you could hear the bathroom door close, then Ezra’s feet on the stairs, then the shifting of the blankets and the pressure of his body on the mattress. The blankets shifted again and Ezra shuffled closer to you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was warm. An arm wrapped around your waist and he tugged you against his chest. Or maybe he shifted closer to you. You weren’t sure. He smelled nice, like your shampoo and the fruity smelling soap he used since he was allergic to something in your soap bar. Your hand found his and you brushed your fingers up and down his own, enough for him to know you were still conscious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You felt the spots where you knew there was ink, wrapped in rings and dots around his fingers, lines crossing his knuckles, little stars. Maybe it was your brain playing tricks because it should have been healed by then, but you could feel the bumps of where you had poked his favorite constellation into the side of his finger days before he left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was one of your days off, and after doing the little piece on him, you had finally gotten Ezra to take a needle and do something on your hip. You drew out a template for him and told him what to do. You lay on the couch, naked from the waist down, as he took hours to finish a tiny design, pausing every few seconds to make sure he wasn’t doing it wrong. Had it been anyone else it would have been stressful. But that memory drifted amongst the peaceful ones, and it fell away into the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ezra’s breath softly blew across the side of your next. Apricot made a sound in her sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your fingers stilled as you felt your body grow heavier with sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you,” Ezra whispered. You let the words wash over you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three...</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was asleep before you were, his breath evening out. You imagined how it must have been for him, all those days alone. It felt amazing to sleep in your own bed again even after a few days. To be gone for that long? You hoped he would sleep in tomorrow. Let himself recover.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe then you’d bring up that you’d figured out how to get him registered. That he could, if he wanted, stay. That he could work here, legally and without fear of any of the people and governments that had him on lists of drifters that shouldn’t exist. Maybe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe that was for another day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And maybe he just wanted to keep drifting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your life swayed on top of this apartment. Back and forth. And maybe Ezra would keep on swaying too. In and out, always coming back. Always returning back to this equilibrium position in the pendulum of his life. </span>
</p>
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